A/N: Rewriting and Editing. So, basically under construction, major- I'm not sure. I look back and realize I could have introduced everything and written it a bit better. But I still love you guys all the same.


Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, nor its character. Just the ones made up in this labyrinth called my mind.


Soul Society.

A place said to be Heaven or Nirvana.

Paradise. Sublime.

But that's just an image.

The real Soul Society-

Well, that's the ticket. Let's start there.


Rewind: Sometime in the last century.

Tired feet trudged their way through thick mud, the sludge and muck restricting their movements to erratic jerks of the leg, stomping from frustration. Harsh, raw rain beat down on four solid figures, shrouded with the shadows of the befalling thunderstorm.

Caked with mud, one of the shadowed figures stopped, lifting his head to the sky.

Sick and tired of this ridiculous extraction mission. It was stupid and pointless, and really he just wanted to make it back to Seireitei in one piece, but that was proving to be quite difficult with the turmoil in the abandoned area.

His red hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, and he bore the traditional shingami garb. Black robe, sash around the waist, white socks and thin sandals. He carried a sword on his waist, just like his companions, just as the whole of his society did. His hands balled into fists, straining. Tired, hungry, exhaustion was creeping near the four Shingami.

"Renji."

The man shifted his gaze to a shorter figure, staring him down with unwavering, violet eyes.

"Rukia…"

She gazed at him, suddenly tired. There they stood, childhood friends, in the midst of rough skirmishes and harsh rains, with their two other companions treading on. It was a hell of a mission- the Shinigami were in hostile territory of Soul Society. Hollows, bandits- did it really matter who the enemy was? Everyone the group ran into was seemingly problematic.

Noticing their sudden absence, the second in line- also the second in command- turned around, barking, "OI! What the hell do you runts think you're doing? Keep up, or you'll be left behind! You-!"

"You make it seem like we'll leave them behind, Matsuyo."

The tone was light and prudent, but also clipped. Tolerant, but not a pushover. This was the voice of someone who had experience, yet wasn't the best. Someone who knew just enough to get by, and then some, and wasn't someone to be taken lightly.

And the woman, Matsuyo, knew this. Stiffening, she reluctantly turned to her superior, who was just a silhouette in this rain. "B-But Nagasaki Fukutaicho, we've got to keep moving!"

This 'Nagasaki Fukutaicho' cut her charcoal eyes to her halted subordinates, frowning. With a sharp pull to her brows, she abandoned their four line formation, marching through the thick muck, back to her two juniors who stood stiff, ready to be chewed out by their superior. Renji and Rukia hadn't been acquainted with Nagasaki for long, but they had heard hushed whispers and rumors regarding her regulations.

The now scowling Fukutaicho halted in front of the two Shinigami, silent. Her long, sandy hair was pulled back in a sloppy braid, and her lips thinned upon first glance. She also wore the traditional black robe, but her sleeves were rolled and hooked to stay in place with two thin straps. There was some sort of platinum plate covering her chest cavity, rising to her throat and wrapping around- only to be spotted if you looked real close under her robes. It shimmered dully in the fierce flashes of the thunderstorm. Nagasaki was overall lean and almost frail looking.

One would have been a fool to assume that Nagasaki would be something so delicate such as frail china.

Her inky eyes cut from one to the other, analyzing.

She could have sliced paper with her sharp gaze, unmoving and unblinking.

Scrutinizing.

"Look, I know this blows on more than one level of the 'suck-o-meter.'"

And just like that, she wasn't some untouchable officer, stoic and inhuman. She was a person with feelings. A crude and unpolished officer with a maelstrom of emotions and feelings, at that.

Sighing almost irritably, Nagasaki watched the one called Renji blink, and the woman called Rukia just frown.

Ah, suspicious.

It almost made her lips quirk with mirth, but she stifled the small smile that threatened to shatter her grave demeanor.

"Our disposition sucks, what we do sucks. But we do it anyways."

To hell with demeanor.

Renji glanced quickly at Rukia, who held Nagasaki's gaze, dead set.

"I know you're tuckered out, I know you're probably starving, and I know you want to go back to Seireitei, but that doesn't look like it's happening, well… anytime soon." Nagasaki stopped, gauging their expressions with an indecipherable glint in her eye before sighing, lifting her hand to rub the back of her drenched hair, "We've got orders," she rolled her eyes, "and we're going to follow them, no matter how stupid and pointless and utterly insane they may be. Then when we're done, we'll go bitch to the nearest Captain and demand free five course meals and a five star bed and warm bath."

Silence. Well, aside from the pouring rain that had taken to drenching the ground and the Shinigami- to Nagasaki's extreme chagrin.

Upon her short finish, Matsuyo rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, unable to stop the ever so slight quirk of her full lips.

Nagasaki, what a charmer.

Said girl crossed her arms impatiently in front of the two Shinigami, "So, do we have a deal, ya Newbies?"

Rukia blinked, taken aback. It took her a few moments to piece a thought together, and even then it hadn't been very productive. This was a Fukutaicho, nonetheless, an officer?

It was still quiet.

Out of nowhere did Renji smirk, cutting the tense atmosphere with a dry bark of laughter, "I'll hold you to that, Nagasaki."

At this Nagasaki only offered a thin-lipped smiled, "Good."

And she turned with an abrupt pivot, back to the front, back on with their march.

With another snort of laughter, Renji turned to Rukia, who was staring at Nagasaki's back with a peculiar gaze.

"She knows how to give a good speech."

Blinking, Rukia glanced up at Renji, feeling a slow smile creep onto her small face. Acknowledging Nagasaki's words, "She has an uncanny way of going about it."

Renji only proffered a nonchalant shrug at this, picking his feet up from the mud. No way would someone like Nagasaki suddenly swoop out of nowhere, give some crude speech that somehow aligned with his thoughts perfectly, and then walk off to suddenly make herself look like some cool player.

She wouldn't beat him, even though she was probably decades older.

And Rukia was right behind him, thoughts directed towards the same girl, but with less of an edge. Just that small, barely-there smile curling her lips as her mind started to tick.

Hazumi Nagasaki, eh?